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syrakhanistan · 23 days ago

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Operation: Iron Barrel

[Local Central Syrakhanistani News Report, broadcasting from outside the city limits of Neo-Kirkukihara, roughly 30km from Old Kirkuk/Government Citadel and 2km from the edge of the Metropolitan Zone; circa 201X.]

“As you can see, we’re here at the site of the attempted terrorist attack just outside the city limits of Neo-Kirkukihara, the hijacked train having been spotted in Baghdad - reportedly after being transported all the way from the Southern Iranian regions. Our brave Vigiles and Marines co-operated to take down the vicious rebels who would bring harm to our glorious nation, with very fe— With no casualties! It is unknown at this time what the terrorists planned to use the train for; rumours of a nuclear or biological device are likely false. Do not panic, citizens - you are safe, as always! For our next top story…”

===

Mission Report:

Mission Status: EXECUTED - SUCCESS

Mission Name: Operation Iron Barrel

Mission Objective(s): Emergency Operation:

- Prevent or Delay Terrorist Attack on Neo-Kirkukihara

— Terrorists identified as likely members of Special Designated Organisation P-1: Intelligence Request via O9 Received and Acknowledged

- Gather Information on P-1

- Prevent Detonation of Unconfirmed, but likely, Parallel-Linked SG-Class Weapon via Nuclear Activation

- Attempt to ensure Safety and Security of Civilians and the City

- Attempt to Stop Locomotive from entering city limits

Mission Participants:

- Vigiles Kirkuk, 1st-5th Squads

- Vigiles Baghdad, 4th Squad

- Imperial Marines:

— S-O16, four officers (2x Ev, 1x V, 1x Ca)

— S-O20, two officers (2x Ca)

— S-O12, one officer (1x Ev)

— O14, three officers (Team was on holiday (“performing ceremonies for the Officio”) in Baghdad, before being called in for backup - 2x Ev, 1x V)

— [REDACTED], tactical oversight

===

[Personal recollections of Eversor [REDACTED], member of the [REDACTED] Officio on loan within the Surrogate System: “With regards to that one train mission…”]

===

Fucking hell, the chopper was loud.

Your team was circling overhead a train station on the outskirts of Baghdad. A cargo freight train had parked unscheduled at the nearly-unmanned station, so one of the few members of staff in the building had called it in - only to be swiftly silenced.

Members of the Vigiles Baghdad began to investigate, only to quickly find themselves under fire. A protracted gun battle had begun, while a small contingent of members from the Fourteenth Officio - apparently they’d been performing some sort of ritual in the city related to The Faith - had managed to get on board the train; alongside a pair of Callidus agents on loan from the Twentieth.

Given the now smoking ruin of the train station (alongside a small portion of the suburban area; nearby, a fires station crew was desperately trying to put out the flames of a centuries-old mosque), the large number of dead police officers, and the flashes of magic that pulsated in bursts around the area - you’d say things had escalated.

“We’ve confirmed at least twenty hostages on board the train, as of the cargo freighter’s staff logs. Unknown number of combatants; likely at least ten, likely all magical girls.” The intel crackles in over your headset; an unfamiliar voice, likely a higher-up in the Vigiles with proper clearance.

Your team nods in unison. You don’t know which Officio was dumb enough to try something like rob or attack an affiliate of the [REDACTED] - even The Thugs were usually brighter than that - but they were in for a world of hurt.

Standard liquidation op, then.

As your team and you began to lock and load, switching from fatigues to your uniforms in the blink of an eye (standard redaction protocols were practically universal when deployed in Syrakhanistan, so no need to worry about breaking any rules), another voice begins to crackle over the radio - this one more rough, accented; Japanese, you think.

“Heretics, all. In allegiance with the foul enemy.” The voice spits with a spiteful tone. “You will be christened in flames, as She wills it, for being in partnership with the Devil.”

Devil? Enemy? The combatants had hacked your comms, or something; and they sounded like they were a few berries short of a fruitcake.

Another voice. Italian? Must be the Fourteenth. Somehow, the words that come out were more unusual than the lunatic spiel of the last speaker.

“I CONFIRM— REPEAT, CON— WARHEAD — NUCL— LINKED TO— GEM—“ The words crackle out, filled with static.

Nuclear… gem? You look at your squad mates; all of you look begin to look equal parts curious yet concerned.

As you look out the window, you see the train beginning to slowly move.

“Shit, prepare for deployment.” Your boss growls into the chopper’s headphones from the cockpit.

The chopper’s ramp began to open, a bluster of wind meeting your faces, giving you a better view of the now speeding-up train.

“COME IN, CONFIRM.” The Italian voice again. The enemy’s cackling now audible in the background.

“WE HAVE CONFIRMED A NUCLEAR WARHEAD ATTACHED TO A NUMBER OF MAGICAL GIRLS’ SOUL GEMS. I REPEAT, PARALLEL-LINKED SOUL GEM NUKE INBOUND.”

You feel a chill, instinctual reaction acting as premonition. Nukes, sure, you can get - but attaching them to Soul Gems? What would that do, besides desecrate their—

Oh. You forget… just how powerful a single Soul Gem can theoretically be.

Your thought process is interrupted by a magical blast whizzing past the chopper’s blades.

“GO GO GO!” The boss shouts. You all oblige, as you see her unplug her own seatbelt to follow you shortly.

Unfortunately for her, it appears as thought not all of her did. Another round hits the chopper just as you all jump; the pilot is likely killed instantly, while your boss is practically vaporised - a single leg, and a Soul Gem, just managing to escape. On instinct alone, you grab the gem, letting the leg drift away through the air.

You’re now in charge, you suppose.

“This is Eversor [REDACTED]. The Lieutenant-Major has been body-killed; SG recovered successfully. I am taking command of the S-O16 Squad effective immiediately.” You say into the comms. You’re not sure if there’s a specific channel you had to choose, so you had to do an open channel announcement.

Your friends mid-air nod; no point worrying too much about the boss, so long as her Soul Gem was alright.

“Standby, Eversor [REDACTED]… Acknowledged. Your temporary callsign is Nexus-1. Switch to Comms Channel 143-AR for your boss’s intel brief, over.” The commanding voice from earlier says.

You switch comms, as your team begins to float towards the back carriage of the rapidly-accelerating train.

“This is Nexus-1, reporting. The mission target has begun to move; we are approaching it from behind. Over.” You say, hoping the wind isn’t too loud.

“This is Inquisitor [REDACTED], working with the Vigiles Kirkuk on behalf of the [REDACTED]. Operation Callsign is Metro-1; feel free to call me Kirkuk Actual if you want.” The commander responded coolly.

“Acknowledged. So, what can you tell me? Over.” You say, while avoiding a stray pigeon and several bursts of enemy fire.

“Not as much as I’d like to, unfortunately. We’re still gathering intel; for now, consider the enemy as hostiles to be liquidated at all costs. Of course, if you can get a girl alive, that would be grand - but, since they’ve likely got Eversors, well…” Metro-1 pauses slightly.

Oh, you’re well aware. You’re trained yourself as good as any fine Eversor in the art of ‘dying well’.

“…We don’t know if any civilians on board are hostages, or active participants. Use force where deemed necessary on uncertain targets; application is left to you.” They continue.

“Not much to go on, but we’ll try our best. If we find any intel, we’ll report back to you; hopefully you’ll do the same for us on your end. Over and out.” You say, wrapping the sentence up, as your squad began the final descent.

“Acknowledged. Godspeed, and may the Blessed Lady be with you all. Over.” The commander finishes, signing off.

Liquidation of enemies on a moving locomotive. Magical girl enemy presence. Likely nuclear-magical weapon on board.

So, a regular weekend, then.

You grin under your helmet as the squad hits the deck running, immediately coming under fire from a hastily assembled machine-gun nest and two masked magical girls.

As you steady yourself, weaving to and fro, you’re coming to realise that the train is still accelerating. It’s a freight train, right? Even if it IS fancy future tech, magnetic whatever it’s called. Enemy must have modified it.

One of your squadmates - [REDACTED], ‘Nexus-2’ - propelled herself right into the MG-nest with a cackle, ripping it (and one of the enemy) clean in half with a solid kick. Another, Nexus-3, laid down covering fire from behind, where she was safest, while the newest edition to this motley crew, Nexus-4, moved swiftly from side to side, feeding intel softly through your headset, with what were likely flashes of blinding light for the enemy weaving in and out from between barrels.

Bloody Callidus… can’t get their hands dirty until they’re in juuuust the right spot for the quick kill. At least Vindicares knew to just open fire when necessary.

You find yourself within reach of the final girl on this carriage, and with an instinctive growl, you thrust your arm out, breaking her own with a sickening crunch and twisting it right off. You grab her by the lapel of her uniform, until you notice her maniacal grin.

She wouldn’t—

You act in the moment, ignoring the glow now emanating from her chest-based Soul Gem, and toss her as far as you could throw her away from the train.

Within mere seconds, a screaming fire detonates, scorching the air around where the girl had been in a sphere of pure energy.

“Woah…” The Callidus, Nexus-4, muttered under her breath.

“First time seeing suicide bombers, newbie?” Nexus-2 grunted over comms to her, as she bounded up to your side.

“Fuckin’ hate ‘em myself…” You respond out loud. “There’s a difference between dying with a fight in your lungs the good old fashioned way, and just giving up and blowing everything away just because you’re a sore loser…”

“Or a fanatic, perhaps.” Nexus-3 speaks quietly, folding an assault rifle away into a hidden space as she came up from behind.

You snort. “Which is worse, eh? Assholes who can’t take a loss, or nutters who’ll die for some stupid cause?”

Nexus-3 shakes her head. “Oversimplifying a little, perhaps. Yet—“

Nexus-2 laughs, clapping Nexus-3 on the shoulder. “Same shit, different names if you ask me. Both of them just easier to kill than to argue morals with.”

Nexus-4 sidles up with the rest of you, getting ready to breach into the next compartment. “…so long as I get paid, it doesn’t matter to me.”

…too right.

You send a surge of energy through the door, melting it within seconds, and pounce through the gap, the squad following suit.

As you continue fighting, you hit up the comms again to Metro-1. “Kirkuk Actual, don’t know if the other teams have informed you yet, but the enemy magical girls appear to likely all be suicide bombers. Over.”

“Acknowledged, Nexus-1. Fanatics, then… Hmm. Hold the line, I’ll see if any of our Intel team have any theories yet. Over.” Kirkuk Actual speaks slowly, as if having a brainwave, while you punt an enemy mundane through a window.

Nexus-2 mutters something vulgar as she fights another magical girl, before grabbing her and similarly throwing her out of the train, a flicker expanding into a spark and then an explosion just outside announcing another death.

The Callidus pops out next to a set of boxes, holding a shivering woman in what appeared to be construction worker fatigues up by the collar. “Got a live one.” She grunt, tossing her to you before throwing herself back into the fray.

You catch the terrified woman in your arms, and more calmly place her down. You’re an Eversor - but you still have your manners with you, even if one of these days your instincts will likely get the better of you.

You’re hoping the Imperial Marines of this odd country were as efficient in clearing memories and secrets as you’d been informed; you don’t want a breach of contract on your mind if she is a civilian.

“So… Civvy? You don’t smell like a killer.” You speak softly - well, as calm as soft as you can in the middle of an active battle on a speeding train.

“Kamak! To ki npasti? Bah man sadameh nazan!” She screams, sobbing away in an unknown dialect.

You huff, before speaking into your headset to your squad. “Any of you got translation tech on you?”

“Nah.” “Nope.” “Sorry, still haven’t got it installed…”

You sigh, before switching back to the commander’s channel. “Kirkuk Actual, this is Nexus-1. We’ve captured someone - seems like a civilian, most likely. None of us speak her language, though.”

“Copy that. Get her to say something into your mic, we’ll get you a translator.” The Commander mutters back, seemingly distracted.

You cough, nodding at the civilian. She cocks her head, tears still falling from her eyes, confused and terrified. You roll your eyes, and grab her - as softly as you can - and put her mouth next to your microphone.

“Man cpehich kari nakardeh am! lotfa bavar kon!” The woman speaks once more, shaking rapidly.

“Hold on…” Your comms speaks back, before presumably switching to the woman’s language. “lotfa aram bashid; shma dar dastan aman npastid in dolat est. Ma inja npastim ta shma ra najat dehim.”

The woman blinks a few times, coughs, then nods in recognition.

“Persian; Farsi, to be more accurate. Long way from home, mind; you guys are quite a few miles away from any of the Iranian Regions… I’ll allow a auto-translater between the two of you.” The commander pauses, while a soft spoken woman is heard clearing her throat.

“<Hello. Please remain calm; this situation is rather tense for all of us, so let’s all be friends.>” The translator says for you.

“<I… I’ll try. I swear, I’ve done nothing wrong, I just want to live—>” The civilian speaks in bursts, the translator quickly confirming.

“<I know you want to live; but please, you must help us understand.>” You speak slowly, carefully - but remaining tense, commanding even, the translator doing well at conveying the emotions. You nod at the others who’d finished up with the other enemies in this carriage; the noises of battle still continuing outside.

“<Understand… understand what?>” The woman speaks slowly.

“<First - why is a citizen of the Iranian Autonomous regions near Baghdad without clearance?>” The commander intones through the translator, speaking before you have the chance.

“<W-what? Baghdad? I, I don’t know, I was attending to repairs in Bushehr! I know it started moving, we were attacked… These fancy trains, they don’t fix themselves…>” The civilian says, a tone of confusion now pouring through.

“Bushehr?” You say over the comms. “Port city in the southern Iranian regions; used to be even bigger prior to Safaniyah, but it’s still a decent trade hub. Long, LONG way from here, though. I’ll see if there’s any incidents reported there.” The commander responds quickly.

You decide to continue the interrogation. “<Well, you started in Bashehr - you’re now near Baghdad, on a train full of terrorists, rapidly approaching the capital. What gives? Can you tell me what happened? Anything at all.>”

“<We, I… We were performing routine maintenance and repairs in Bushehr for the freight line. I remember, a flash maybe? Only came to a few hours ago… People with guns, and these scary women, told us to stay quiet and stay put. They… one of them, they put a single hand on one of my co-workers… They… Their arm…>” She begins to stutter, tears returning.

“<Calm, now. I need you to tell me - the train stopped about an hour ago, just outside Baghdad: do you know why? The only reason we’ve found you was because the train stopped.>” You continue.

“<I… We couldn’t move much, and I don’t know what language they were speaking. They were… praying, a lot? I think? Some of them got out, smiling weird. There was something outside… They were moving something, I think?>” She tried to explain, stumbling over her words. The translator ended with a sympathetic sigh.

Moving something… the weapon, maybe?

“So they moved—” You begin to speak to the commander, when you’re interrupted by a hail of energy from the front of the carriage.

New enemies. You chuck the civilian to the floor, behind a pile of loose boxes, while rolling out of the way of the enemy fire. You pull out a hand-cannon and fire back, your squadmates already on the move.

One magical girl, firing from behind - Vindicare, perhaps - while four assailants (likely mundanes, from the looks?) attacked along a small firing line with rifles and shotguns.

You turn your head, nod to the civilian, a grin growing on your face. You see the red reflection of your eyes in a broken mirror, a monster coming out of the shell.

You laugh as you jump clean over the firing line of the enemy. The Vindicare doesn’t even have a chance to react as you tear her Soul Gem off her lapel on her jacket, tossing it backwards into the carriage, away from her body, before knocking her unconscious with a decisive move. The soldiers, confused in the briefest of moments, are not left with such mercy; the propulsion of your kick-launch knocking two right through the windows, one of your arms cutting through the head of the third, and going directly through the body of the fourth.

You land with a soft thunk, the debris from your strike following you in what felt like slow motion. You catch the unconscious enemy magical girl in your arms, swiftly breaking her knees and elbows with deft strikes.

You stand, the enemy’s crippled body stuck underneath your arm, turning back to your team. “No more dead squad-mates. T’was bad enough losing the Lieutenant-Major in such an embarrassing way - I can almost feel her Soul Gem in my pocket weeping at missing out on the action. So no more deaths - bodily or otherwise.”

They nod in unison, although the Callidus is kneeling down to grab the Soul Gem you’d thrown. You grin once more. “Well, no more on OUR side, mind.”

You motion them through into the next carriage, before looking to the shaking civilian you’d left behind. “We’re going on ahead; we’ll cut this section loose - just wait for rescue, you should be clear.”

You wave a cynical goodbye, shutting the door behind you. Hopping between the carriages, you apply just a little pressure to the connecting hook between the carriages, letting the back portion of the train that your team had cleared off the rest, to slowly drift and slow.

Their police can clear up the rest.

You shut the door, and toss the enemy Vindicare into a small cabin area - workers’ kitchen, maybe? On a freight train… Odd. Your Callidus nods, gripping the enemy’s soul in their hand, walking away to just at the edge of your vision. There’s a motion, presumably Nexus-4 waking the enemy’s crystallised essence up, and the Vindicare gasps, before shrieking in pain, her nerve endings presumably suddenly finding themselves rather uncomfortable in the arms and legs.

Despite the shrieks, the prisoner’s face remains determined, and she spits at you. You growl, and wipe the spit off your face by headbutting her.

“No pleasantries, then?” The girl snarls in a language you understand - Japanese.

You snort in the response, before turning your headset into speaker mode. “Commander, enemy magical girls confirmed as Japanese. Call up the Ninth and Tenth, see if they’ve got any missions they’d like to inform our mutual superiors about, eh?”

“I mean… Just because they’re from Japan doesn’t guarantee their Officio, you know?” The Commander says, nitpicking amusingly.

“Eat shit and die, traitors…” The prisoner growls, a maniacal tone in her voice.

“Traitor?” You respond, a laugh caught at the back of your throat.

“…Actually, it’s not just the Ninth and Tenth, is it?” The Commander speaks, a realisation dawning.

You notice her change of tone, and remember something. “…right. The Thugs and Murderers are still in Mitakihara, but the Third also used to be there, didn’t they?”

“And that’d explain the ‘traitors’ remark…” The Commander speaks thoughtfully, before turning off comms abruptly.

There’s a new disquieting silence in the compartment, an oppressive one that shuts off the sound of ongoing battles further up the train.

The Ninth’s unauthorised purge of the Third was still controversial; although Walpurgisnacht occurred mere months afterwards, practically dismissing it from the general consciousness of the Officios, it never did fully go away.

Like… Cultists? A Warmaster thinking she’s in contact with The Blessed Lady? Blowing up an entire skyscraper? Everyone knew that the Third and Ninth hadn’t had good relations for a while, but…

“Traitors for this, traitors for that… You’re all in league with the enemy either way.” The Vindicare growls, a maddening smile gripping at her cheeks.

Nexus-2 stomps up, and jams a high-heel directly into an open wound in the prisoner’s missing kneecap. “How the FUCK are we traitors? How the fuck are the civvies on this train, or in wherever this rust-bucket is going, traitors?”

The enemy’s smile fades. “…this rust-bucket isn’t aiming for the civvies. And you’re all in league with the enemy. Traitors, all. That, or fools.”

The heel twists, a sickening groan coming from the prisoner’s throat. “What enemy? If you’re a Third remnant that somehow didn’t get transferred but survived the Ninth’s attack… You’re attacking the wrong city, right? No Ninth branch in the Middle East, you know.” Nexus-2 growls down at her, patience visibly fading fast.

“Hee hee… The Ninth Officio was never our enemy. The enemy… was our enemy.” The prisoner says, now grinning once more. “The Prophet has seen it, the enemy’s plan to change the world. Only we can save our souls, bring salvation.”

Her grin widens further, her dry lips tightening and bleeding. “But you are not worthy of our salvation, ally of the enemy.”

There’s a shriek nearby. You see the Callidus wave frantically; the Vindicare underneath you screams and, through inhuman effort, shoves her shoulder-blades into the ground - the effort propelling her right out the window, while she cackles away.

Nexus-3 moves quickly, but not quick enough. The enemy’s Soul Gem was now actively burning into Nexus-4’s hand, an eerie glow brightening by the second. Nexus-3 tries to grab the Callidus’ arm - but you’re faster, cutting the arm clean off, and lobbing it right out the window to join the enemy prisoner.

There’s a soft explosion, and flesh scatters itself in a splatter across the open window-sill of the cabin, the enemy’s cackling silenced.

“…disgusting.”, was Nexus-2’s response. Quite correct, frankly.

“Kirkuk Actual - did you get all that?” You speak over the comms once more.

“…Yes, I think we did. Talk about potty.” The murmur comes in response, deep in thought. “Tenth were obviously somewhat blasé in their response to our question, but the Ninth have began to corroborate what the girl said.”

You’re filled in on the details from Mitakihara.

A death cult from the ruins of the Third Officio, dedicated to the sworn destruction of the Ninth’s new Warmaster - one Chiaki Matsuda - who also happened to be one of the former Warmaster’s best friends. Indeed, it would appear according to some reports that the whole Ninth-Third conflict began following an incident involving Chiaki herself.

The cult was obsessed with killing Chiaki Matsuda, hopefully with the whole Ninth following suit, all while in the thrall of an individual known as “The Prophet”. It’s also believed that they may be a fringe organisation with heretical beliefs regarding the Blessed Lady, the most holy guardian of all magical girls.

“…but what does ANY OF THAT have to do with nuking a Middle Eastern city?” You exclaim after the impromptu briefing.

“Your guess is as good as mine. The Followers of this Prophet are all but confirmed to now be the ones behind this attack, given both your interrogation of that girl as well as the other reports we’re hearing - but we have no decent motive for this attack whatsoever.” The Commander replies, in an equally bemused tone.

“…does it really matter, though?” Nexus-2 growls once more, reloading a shotgun with malicious intent. “At the end of the day, they’re intent on killing civvies and bombing shit; magical girls or not, that makes them a target in my book.”

You shrug. Good enough reason as any.

“Well, in any case. Mission parameters remain the same - eliminate the enemy (now to be referred as “Special Designated Organisation P-1”, or just Prophet’s Followers), rescue any hostages, and ensure that the train does not reach Neo-Kirkukihara. Godspeed.”

The comms click shut, and you nod - predominantly to yourself.

Time to kill some fellow Sparklies and their cannon fodder.

…

From there, it was a largely clean-sweep up the carriages. It was clear the enemy was quickly running out of expendable magical girls to attack you and your comrades, and their (presumably magically-enslaved) human soldiers were no threat at all.

A slice here, a few bullets there, a grenade for good measure.

By the time you’d reached the last four carriages, your squad had met up with the rest of the on-standby Officio units (including the increasingly incredulous Italians, who CLEARLY didn’t want to be here).

Everyone had appeared to have been waiting for you to assess the enemy stronghold on the train. It had been quietly told to you over the comms that you were effectively the highest ranking Magical Girl in the operation zone - making you the commanding officer on-site.

One of the Callidus members - a much younger-looking girl than your own cohort - briefly saluted you, before bringing up a digital pad with photos. It showed hastily taken pics of the contents of the front carriage - the engine room, which had several enemies who had been attacking the photographer; and a cleared freight container, which had a large and ominous looking metal device with strangely-coloured chains attached to several young women, each holding a glowing jewel with some level of reverence.

“…Do we have any estimates on how bad the damage this would cause?” You say, keeping your volume as low as possible.

“I would, perhaps, say that it’s best not to think about it. If I had to guess, I would say that anything is on the table right now.” The girl spoke, her accent unfamiliar to you.

“Callidus… You’re from the Twentieth, right? Weren’t you with a comrade?” You say after she finishes.

The Callidus nods, face grim. She takes something out of her pocket - pieces of glass with a small amount of gold leaf. Ah.

“…my condolences.” You politely state.

“Don’t need condolences, boss - I just want the bastards who did this to pay.” She says, a grin twisting onto her face.

Your grin matches hers, and you grip her shoulder with a friendly tap.

Nothing better than getting some enemy kills, you bet.

You turn to face your assembled soldiers, when you’re all hit with a sense of urgency.

Urgency emphasised by something akin to pressure building.

Was the train… still accelerating?

“This is Kirkuk Actual to all on-site personnel. The train has been observed to have started accelerating even further - magical spectrometers indicate activity in the engine room. We now estimate less than 20 minutes until reaching the city outskirts.”

Shit.

“…make that ten.”

“ALRIGHT WE GET IT, TOO LATE TO PLAN, EVERYONE GET TO KILLING!” Nexus-2 roars, taking the words from your mouth. She raises a claw-weapon, shouts a battle-cry, and races forwards.

The fourth carriage. You all storm in, bullets already flying, fire in the air. Blood splatters, limbs torn off.

As you cave in the skull of an enemy Eversor, your comms crackles once more.

“Nexus-1. Urgent update. The train is now accelerating exponentially.” A new voice speaks. “This is… well, doesn’t matter. Kirkuk Actual has been deployed for evacuations.”

“Alright, so we—” You speak, someone’s spine currently in your outstretched hand, before being interrupted once more.

“Don’t have time. Let me be frank - do something on your end to stop that train, or one of us will have to step in. There’ll be nothing left to memorialise your sacrifice if we do. You have less than a minute to make your choice.” The voice speaks, not even a hint of malice or nerves, simply stating the command as a matter of fact, before the comms abruptly shuts down.

60. You shout something to your comrades. Not sure what; just an abrupt warning.

55. You push all your energy into your knees, and jump. Clean through the roof of the carriage.

54. You use your momentum to somehow outspeed the train. You’re aiming for the front of it, after all.

50. The front of the train nearly hits you head on, as you grab it with a solid thunk.

48. You tear the front of the engine room clean off, revealing a magical girl with her hand glowing like fire on the engine mechanism, a shocked look on her scarred face, while her guardian Eversors widen their eyes, looking to pounce.

45. The Eversors miss. You’re faster. The engine girl’s face seems almost disappointed as you tear right into the engine.

44. The train is not slowing. The engine is no longer the accelerator - the girl is.

40. Fuck it.

39. You grab the girl’s head, and with a decent amount of force, you smash it into the broken engine. She laughs it off, cackling, magic now burning your own skin, Eversors inching closer with blackened, shadowy blades.

36. Fuck it. Fuck this. Alright, let’s do this.

35. The girl is no longer cackling, as you jump, and use her body as a missile.

The magical girl’s body hits the engine room with the force of a small meteor. The structure of the train buckles almost instantly, the rails underneath it snapping like wires. The engine room is obliterated almost instantly; the front carriage is shredded, the weapon room still glowing but being thrown upwards right towards you. You see one of the sacrifices look at you, a burning, seething hate in her eyes.

Neither of you have time to react properly to one another before the rest of the carriages begin to fall down. The debris from the explosion scatters, even as the sound from the impact blast finally hits your ears.

The train, and it’s inhabitants, are thrown in every direction, mere kilometres from the Kirkuk Metropolitan Area, the flickering lights of the sprawling city behind the monumental glass wall seemingly only a few moments away.

You’re barely able to hold yourself together just as your body makes contact with the ground, metres away from the enemy’s weapon. You tumble, rolling over and over, skin being peeled like a potato, flesh tearing from the bone, until you finally manage to steady yourself and come to a stop.

Your legs are practically just bone, a few pieces of cindered flesh holding on for dear life.

You’d scream from the agony - but pain had long since been eliminated from your vocabulary. One of the first lessons a good Eversor learns.

You grit your teeth and focus on healing your legs, even as you stagger - alternating between wobbling like a penguin and walking - towards the enemy’s bastion.

Smoke from the debris and explosion had already begun to blot out the sky. If this was what a tank full of fuel and a basic engine - mixed with whatever power that magical girl had been pumping it with - caused this much mess, you’re sure as hell glad to do your best to destroy whatever’s left of their little doomsday weapon.

As you’re stumbling towards the carcass of the cabin, figures come out of the smoke towards you from it. Sacrifices or guards, irrelevant.

You pull out a sword from one of your various weapon-keeping spots, having already ran out of ammo.

They’d die either way.

You ignore the sound of your maddening laughter as you sprint on literal bony legs towards the enemy. The first girl doesn’t even have time to react before you’ve split her Soul Gem in half, along with dividing the rest of her body up. The second almost manages to grab a sidearm, only to find her own arms falling to shreds.

Amid a break in the cloud of smoke, you could have sworn you saw a star above Kirkuk, a glow seemingly watching you with interest.

The light distracted you long enough for a third girl to attack, slamming an axe right into your gut, twisting it and pulling your intestines out like a pile of raw sausages.

You don’t care. You use your own intestines as a rope, keeping them hooked around the enemy’s axe, and pull her towards you. She manages to cut your pulling arm off - but not before you slam your face into her neck, biting into the flesh.

The bitter taste of iron fills your mouth while the screams of the enemy fill your hearing, still ringing from the impact of your attack on the front carriage.

Your one good arm pushes the girl away, tearing her neck apart as your teeth come free. She shambles around the sand for a moment before collapsing.

Pathetic. They’re heretics, motivated by whatever lunacy shoved into their heads by this Prophet; but you’re just another merc, here for money and nothing else. A mercenary, who still hadn’t been paid for this bloody job - so you had no reason to go dying just yet.

Another set of girls comes out of the carriage. Their gems are as bright as suns, and the large mechanical device that they were carrying together seemed to burn twice as bright.

“Fool. All for naught.” The twins spoke in unison. “Enemy of hope, friend of the devil, today you and your kin will be scoured.”

They place the mechanism down, still staring at you, before raising a hand each, Soul Gems starting burn brighter, shimmering the air around them.

“With this act, another arm of the enemy is cut off - the path will be clear, for all to—” They continue to speak in that sing-song like tone, before being abruptly cut off.

One of the twins shrieks, as she watches the other get torn clean in half. There’s no blood, no viscera; the girl falls into two exact pieces, something like glowing flame running up the exposed flesh.

A single spear, obsidian-black, encrusted with blood-red jewels, emerges from the corpse. As soon as it appears, it’s no longer there, the wielder swapping for a far more simple looking axe with a wooden handle, the blade covered in rusty barbed wire.

“WHAT?! WHY ARE YO—” The second twin cries, right before being silenced permanently as the axe cuts diagonally across her body, slamming into her held Soul Gem and shattering it.

The girls fall to pieces, and the bomb is dropped unceremoniously to the desert floor, as the new assailant gives a rough, corrupt-sounding sigh.

The tall woman in bloody red motorcycle fatigues, spiked shoulder-pads and all, turned to you, her helmet painted like that of a demon with burning eyes. “…damn fools.”

A Culexus outfit… but made to someone else’s specifications. And decked out in red everything.

The Red Culexus turned back to the bomb, and, with a swift kick, smashed it into little metal splinters, the contents quickly reduced to sequentially smaller and smaller pieces by a follow up of kicks and jabs, until nothing else remained.

You try to laugh at such an action - like, what happened to cutting the wires and such? - but all you manage is a cough.

The Red Culexus turns away from you and the place where the nuke had been, towards the destroyed and burning compartment. Another girl was stumbling out.

She’s… a mess. What looked to be a commanding and ornate uniform was drenched in blood and viscera, no doubt including much of her own since she was missing a rather significant chunk of her own head. Her hair was actively on fire, an eye socket was leaking gunge, and teeth stuck out of where a mouth had once been at an odd angle.

“Did… did we win? Have we… brought hope?” The girl groans, tongue barely still attached inside the exposed mouth.

You recognise the voice from earlier. This must be the enemy commander.

The Culexus approaches her, as the girl collapses, and catches her fall in her arms. One of the girl’s arms falls clean off, the stump bleeding profusely.

“You fuckin’ muppets. Why didn’t you listen to our Leader and I…? This was a fool’s errand.” The Culexus whispers beneath the heavy vox filter.

“…but did we win, Vice-Leader? Did we deal a decisive blow to the fated enemy?”The dying girl manages to blurt out, her one still working arm attempting to hold onto the Culexus’ shoulder.

The Culexus takes a deep breath, before responding. “Yeah. I’m sure the enemy really felt this one. Victory is in our grasp.”

The girl manages to smile - or, an attempt of a smile - before her body weakly gave up all motion with a soft flop.

“…blood waste.” The Culexus murmured. The body she held spontaneously ignited into a dark blue flame, falling to the desert floor, before quickly disintegrating into ashes that spun away into the sandy winds.

She turned back to you once more. Your body wasn’t still fully healed, but you bent down, picking the discarded axe covered in your own intestines up, gripping it.

“Another fighter, eh?” The Culexus growled, gloved hands eagerly tapping fingers against the handle of her own fireman-style axe.

“…still. I have no intention of fighting you. I’m just here to clean up the mess my comrades made.” She spoke - but, instead of talking to you, she’d raised her head up, staring into the distance.

You follow her gaze, and realise she’s talking to the star above the city you noticed earlier.

She takes heed of your bemusement, and turns back to you. “Attacking Kirkuk does nothing for our goals… yet. My friends’ attempted attack was premature.”

“Premature? An attack is an attack.” You say, smirk at your lips, just as you pounce.

Out of the ash and sand clouds surrounding you, your comrades follow your signal. The Culexus finds themselves at the mercy of 4 seperate Officio squads, alongside who-knows-how-many Syrakhanistani military assets.

As you begin to descend on the target, all you manage to hear is a single, abrupt, and seemingly disappointed sigh.

You, and your soldiers, suddenly find their movement squandered, abruptly dropping to the ground in a synchronised thud. There’s a single moment of united confusion, before the rest of the anti-magic attack hits you all.

A Culexus’ magic attack is that of anti-magic psyker abilities. You knew this from a briefing, many years ago, before virtually all known Culexus-class magical girls died during Walpurgisnacht. The range of effects on a magical girl by a Culexus or any psychic-aligned anti-magic attack (such as those experienced within a Silent Room imprisoning chamber) are wide and varied; but, generally, the defender experiences a deeply uncomfortable headache. When the ability’s force is increased, this can escalate to blood excreting from the mouth, nose and ears; if pushed further, pressure builds within the air pockets inside the skull as magic meets anti-magic. At even higher levels, anti-magic or psyker attacks are almost always deadly to biological life, capable of affecting physical objects akin to that of pressure underwater - and some Culexus-class magical girls are reported to even be capable of inducing instant Witchification into a magical girl’s Soul Gem.

The Red Culexus’ assailants all collapse into a wide range of coughing fits, blood spraying across the sands. Nexus-3, your Vindicare, screams an agonising cry from behind you; Nexus-4 groans, her eyes seeming to bulge from her head.

You can barely process what’s going on. Your hands are shaking; you feel like someone’s dropped a pile of weights onto your head.

Yet you ignore the blood pouring from your eyes and nose, the feeling of hammers hitting your fingers, and stand under all that pressure, the stolen axe still gripped tight in your hand.

The Red Culexus chuckles, and begins to walk towards you. “I’m glad. There are still some Mahou-Shoujo capable of putting up a good fight in this age.”

She stands next to you, and lightly puts a hand on your shoulder. You feel nothing, even as you watch the entire shoulder-blade decay under the touch, skin turning to flesh, flesh rotting, bone fracturing as all you can do is stare.

You’re gripping your axe as hard as you can, begging your nerves to move.

The Culexus nods. “Good. You’re strong. Shame… you’re on the wrong team.”

She looks back up at the city walls. A small corrupted grunt comes from her helmet.

“…however, my fight is not against you. So, good luck in your endeavours.” She speaks softly, even despite the metallic grinding corrupting her tones. She steps past you, even as you manage to will your body to turn to follow and face her, axe hand managing to slowly move.

You watch as she summons her blackened spear once more, slicing the air with a shimmer. The folds of reality seem to come apart in front of you, revealing something else entirely. The Culexus steps through the gouge, and both it and her disappear as if never having been there in the first place.

You grunt, even as you begin to hear the cries from the commanding operator in your ear. Your consciousness gives way, and your enter the darkness once more.

===

Mission Report, cont’d:

- Group P-1 identified as “Followers of the Prophet”, former members of the liquidated O3. Motivations behind attacking Syrakhanistan are unknown.

- Confirmation of a second surviving Culexus (besides Special Operative Chitose “Omegon” Yuma); O9 has no record of a Red Culexus in their ranks, but in the time since the battle outside Kirkuk have confirmed a Red Culexus being involved in the Prophet’s attacks.

- Surviving civilians successfully mind-wiped and re-integrated into society with a substantial reward for their co-operation (albeit now no longer remembered).

- Surviving operatives in the operation taken for recuperation following significant mental, physical and metaphysical damage suffered from a high-level anti-magic attack.

- Red Culexus confirmed to have Warp-shifting abilities, including artificial entry to the Akashic Realm. Information forwarded to O1 for usage - Equerry “Sevatar” in transit to O9, and has taken operational assistance over this matter.

- Officer on duty following the body-death of her Lieutenant Major recommended for significant promotion and/or pay-rise, if/when she awakens from her coma.

- Study of SG-Linked Superweapon impossible due to it’s destruction.

- All known assailants confirmed as soul-deceased. No interrogation possible at this time.

===

Takamachi Nanoha lowered the glowing golden rifle, an almost disappointed noise coming both from weapon and user. The rifle lets off some steam, before slowly disassembling back into the staff-like form it usually held.

She stood from her prone position, and placed the ornate device onto her back. She stretched a little, and yawned.

Seemed like the boss was being paranoid after all. Nanoha could almost feel her tension, just a few floors below, gaze centred down there. Nothing the usual folks round these parts couldn’t handle, really.

‘What a fuss over nothing’, Nanoha thought to herself as she sat back down, white coat fluttering slightly in the wind.

She swung her legs up and down off the side of the building, so very high up.

Still - at least the weather was nice. A pleasant, if boring, day.

If only these quaint days could last forever.

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